


Resonance

by Coragyps



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom!Sam, Caring Sam Winchester, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Dean Winchester, Jealousy, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 04:18:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15941639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coragyps/pseuds/Coragyps
Summary: So, Dean’s two favorite people have developed feelings for each other. Great stuff. His little brother and his best friend. Super. What could be better than that.He probably just needs a little space, to figure out how to – best celebrate, uh, how great this is. Yeah. And hey, it’s not like anybody’s going to miss him.All he needs now is to find a good hunt …[With wonderful art by the incredible Threshie!!]





	Resonance

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my amazingly talented (and very patient) artist Threshie! She created such beautiful images that I was inspired to keep improving the story. 
> 
> And of course, a huge thank you to the moderators of the Team Free Will Bang. Go read all the lovely Wincestiel entries here: https://tfwbigbang.tumblr.com/

  
   
  __**_ __[_Check out the incredible art masterpost_](http://threshasketch.tumblr.com/post/177533096423/presenting-my-art-master-post-for#notes) _by_ [_Thresh-a-sketch_](http://www.threshasketch.tumblr.com)_!!**

 

 

Castiel felt himself summoned by a flood of emotion. It was hard to tell, but it felt like Sam. He cursed and used a precious share of his power to follow the call, disappearing in a flutter of feathers. The Winchester understood his limits these days; they wouldn't summon him unless it was critical.

He arrived to a scene of chaos. There was a black spire streaming from a hole in the earth, which he realized was made up of demons in their natural form.

Sam was already down, badly injured; Dean was still on his feet, standing between his brother and what seemed like half the population of Hell. He had a broken branch in one hand. Castiel spread his limited power to get a read of his soul: Dean was stalwart, expecting to die but to go out swinging. He had never even thought to summon help.

Castiel groaned _; foolish humans_.

They were near the base of what humans called the Devil’s Tower, Wyoming. It was made of igneous rock, rising in grey columns from the surrounding landscape. Castiel was unsure why the boys had come here, but he knew for certain that they needed to leave.

“ _Cas!_ ” Dean hadn’t turned around, but as usual he seemed preternaturally aware of angelic presence. “Good to see you man, you want to give us a little help here?”

Castiel was ambivalent; if he used his powers to dispel the array, he wouldn't have enough to heal their injuries.

“Just keep them busy for me!”

Grimly he drew his angel blade, knowing it would never be enough; but meanwhile Dean, dodging interference, ran to kick over some kind of altar off to one side. It hit the ground with a terrible cacophony, and all at once the hole in the earth began to close, drawing the demons back down into the pit through some kind of reverse pull.

Dean meanwhile dropped down in front of his brother, grasping his head in a bloody palm and patting his cheek. “Hey Sammy. Hey. Sam. Look at me.”

Sam moaned, turning his face into the touch. His eyes remained closed.

“He’s hurt pretty bad,” said Dean, checking him over. The rain, which had been spitting lightly, began to pick up.

Sam stirred as Dean thumbed his eyelid open to check his pupil. “Easy, little bro,” said Dean, automatically dropping into the low, crooning tone that he only used with Sam (or occasionally Castiel himself) when he was injured or disoriented. Castiel was fairly certain he didn’t know he was doing it.

It worked on Sam, who relaxed immediately and let Dean draw him into his lap. Castiel didn’t think he was conscious but he knew better than to doubt the brother’s bond. The reassurance and comfort was clearly reaching him on some level.

“You can heal him, right?” Dean had his hands in Sam’s hair and was bent over him, trying to keep him dry.

Castiel hesitated. “I used up a lot of power coming here. But there was a vial of extra grace – I could heal him if I could get to that.”

“It’s in my duffel, back at the motel.” Dean brushed a strand of Sam’s hair out of his eyes. Castiel had often observed how intimate it was when he touched his brother’s face. “Do you have enough juice left to fly him there?”

Castiel searched for his own harmonic signature and located the vial some forty miles away. “Yes. But … I don’t have enough to transport you both. And once I heal him, I likely won’t be able to come back for you.”

“No,” whispered Sam, turning his head on Dean’s lap. So he was awake after all. “Dean’s hurt too.”

“It’s not bad, Sammy,” said Dean.

“We can all go back together now, and you can heal me later.”

“No. Take him now, Cas,” said Dean, catching Sam’s hand and holding it down at his side. “Before he gets himself worked up about it.”

Castiel couldn’t tell who was hurt worse, but Sam was barely clinging to consciousness. As terrible as it would be to leave Dean – injured, miles from anywhere, possibly facing another wave of demons at any time – it was necessary.

He clapped Dean by the shoulder, hoping to convey the support and compassion he would never be able to speak – and then reached to place his hand gently on the top of Sam’s head. With a flutter of wings, he transported them away.

 

-x-x-

 

“Well, sonuvabitch.” Dean used a nearby pine tree to lever himself to his feet, and then held onto it while he caught his breath.

He didn’t know how they’d screwed up such an easy hunt. John would have their balls, getting caught out like that. Seemed like they’d both slowed down a notch, lately; there weren’t as many chances to practice as there used to be.

But he was fine. And Sammy would be alright. Good old Cas, showing up in the knick of time. Even a quarter-powered angel was worth every square inch of trench coat in a fight. Maybe he couldn’t do everything he used to be capable of, but as long as he could still put Sam back together you’d never hear Dean complain.

Personally he’d been surprised that Cas had elected to stay on earth when they’d closed the gates to Heaven (souls could travel through - dickless featherbrains not so much). Instead of going back with his family Cas had decided to stay with them, even though it meant that his grace barely recharged.

He wondered if it was because of their, uh, _profound bond_. He seriously hoped not, because that was one more mark added to his tally: Things Dean Had Fucked Up. Sammy’s shot at normalcy, Lisa’s - _everything_ , and now Cas’ angel powers. 

Dean took a few deep breaths and started limping slowly back down the trail they’d followed up. It sucked, for sure, but it was hardly the first hunt he’d finished alone. John ‘ _Let’s Split Up’_ Winchester was famous for disappearing into the gloom and appearing hours later at the bar. And Dean’s sense of his own internal injury was keen; there was nothing wrong with him that a couple of ice packs wouldn’t take care of.

The Highway to Heaven may be closed, but they were still working on the gates to Hell. Today’s debacle had supposed to be a practice run. Just a demonic side-door; Sam had found a reference to it in Bunker records. A giant upside-down cross scarred into the landscape across the badlands, with Devil’s Tower at the center. They’d been hoping to close it, but that hadn’t exactly worked out.

An hour’s hike later, he paused at a turnoff to study what looked like a hieroglyph of a bear, carved into the sandstone next to a creek. It looked old - could be something. He snapped a picture, then limped on as the rain poured down steadily. He’d thought the climb up was bad, but downhill in the mud was a thousand times worse. The trail was turning into a brown river and his boots were soaked.

His knees buckled, and he cursed viciously, leaning against a rock. He was starting to feel a little feverish and light-headed – just what he _didn’t_ need. He still had a good drive ahead of him. Times like this he really missed Angel Air, although it was Hell on the digestion.

They’d come a long way since the days Cas had first showed up, bewinged and smelling of ozone, ready to cast him back into the pit the moment he screwed up. He’d meant nothing to Cas then, just another bug to crush underfoot. He’d felt like crap, thinking how little he’d meant to a celestial being.

But he remembered when they sat on the swings together, staring down with the hopelessness of the task in front of them. The only comfort was that they were both in it together. At least Dean had felt like they were.

There had been moments, back when he was sick with grief over Sam, and hopeless about the future of the world, broken by his time in Hell – when he’d thought there was almost – a _thing_ between them. Like, a pants thing. A feelings thing.

Dean had a few furtive experiences with men (nothing his dad could ever have found out about, or God forbid Sam) but it was always hidden, always a secret. Cas made him remember how he’d felt the first time it happened, when he got caught checking out a guy’s ass and ended up taking him home. He’d been what, maybe 15? And it had been easy, and awesome.

Cas made him laugh. He loved his moments of naivety and weirdness. And even better, Cas always seemed to understand his … _thing_ with Sam.

Maybe it was weird, how he was with his little brother, but there was nobody Dean would put before Sam. Not Cas, not mom, not anybody. Even the fate of the world. Sam was always number one. And unlike most of his past partners, Cas didn’t seem to mind. Encouraged it, even. Which meant Dean could really picture how it might work – Sam with the loving wife he deserved, a passel of brats running around, but instead of Dean just trying to keep out of the way, waiting to bite the big one in some hunt gone wrong or the next apocalypse or whatever, it could be … it could be him and Cas, like, _together_ , for the long haul. If only he could get up the stones to ask.

Dean sneezed, trying to muffle it unsuccessfully in his sleeve. Well, enough mooning around. The sooner he got down this rock, the quicker he could get back to his two favorite people.

He heaved himself up and kept moving.

 

-x-x-

 

_Sam dreamed of fire, but there were soothing hands on his chest, on his shoulder, calming him now. “You’re alright, your brother is alright,” said a familiar voice, one that Sam instinctively trusted – and it was saying the exact words that he needed to hear._

_“D-Dean?” he called out, grimacing at the rasp of his throat. Whenever he was sick, his brother was sure to be brooding nearby, and Sam didn’t want him spiraling out the way he did sometimes when Little Sammy was injured._

_“He’s on his way here,” said the same voice, laying something soft and cool over Sam’s forehead. “Next time you wake, you’ll see him. Just rest for now.”_

_It didn’t sit right with Sam, being separated from his brother when he was hurt. He needed him – always needed him, never felt right unless he had Dean’s eyes on him - but especially when he wasn’t at full strength._

_He started to flail, trying to escape the hands that were restraining him. “Dean,” he whimpered._

_“Sam. You’re alright. You’re fine.” A hand on the back of his neck, Dean’s gesture of reassurance._

_The voice was trustworthy, steady and low. And it felt good to let go of his worries, let himself be settled in warm blankets. He would behave, for now. But if he awoke again without Dean …_

_“He’ll be here. Shush.”_

_Sam let himself be soothed into sleep._

 

-x-x-

 

In his former life Castiel had been able to heal humans fully, without them suffering any ill effects – but now he could do no more than correct the life-threatening wounds and jumpstart Sam’s own natural healing. When it was over, Sam was unconscious again, worn out from the severity of his injuries.

He barely managed to heft him into the motel bed, shushing him when he shifted uneasily. He was looking for Dean, Castiel was sure. “He’ll be here soon,” he promised again.

He didn’t have enough power to keep Sam asleep, but he could soothe him as a human would do – as Dean would do, if he was there. With his voice, with his hands.

It seemed to help.

He wished he had never left the boys to visit old friends from the Gas N Sip. He should have been there for them. He should be able to do more for them now.

Poor Dean was still facing the long drive back to the bunker alone, and Castiel was too weak after healing Sam to even think of going out after him.

Castiel collapsed on the other bed and gave into the human weakness of sleep.

 

 

Hours must have passed by the time he heard the door cracking.

He peeled his eyes open to see Dean leaning over Sam, who was asleep in the other bed. Dean rested his hand on Sam’s forehead, checking for fever, then tucked the sheets more closely around his brother.

“You’re okay, Sammy,” Dean whispered. Sam, who had started to stir, subsided.

Even with his limited grace, Castiel was able to see their discordant souls settle into resonance.

He always felt honored to watch the two of them interact. Love like theirs didn’t have boundaries. It didn’t have edges. It was a liquid thing, it flowed into any space.

He had to close his eyes, pretending to be asleep, as Dean came to check him over in his turn. Otherwise he would miss out on the soft pat to his chest, then the time-honored retucking of the blankets.

“Sleep tight, buddy.”

There was no bed for Dean, thought Castiel dazedly. Dean was no doubt hurt and chilled to the bone and had just travelled for hours, and now there was nowhere warm for him to sleep.

But in the next minute Dean dropped into the bed next to Sam, nudging his bigger little brother over to the side away from the door. Sam stirred. “Sleep, Samsquatch,” Dean rasped, patting his brother’s forearm. He let it fall over his own chest without comment, closing his eyes.

Castiel was struck with a sudden pang of human longing, as painful as a blade. He wanted to crawl into the bed with them. Feel the animal heat of their bodies, the reassurance of their breathing. Wrap his arms around them and be embraced in return. Be lulled to sleep by the rhythm of their synched heartbeats.

It was the fault of the vessel he was inhabiting. Though long abandoned by Jimmy Novak – and though it had been recreated (more than once) in his image, rather than the actual living memory of his flesh … still, it was flesh-and-blood, and it had its own longings. In the past, he would have been content merely to watch over the Winchesters, or to occasionally align himself into the harmony of their souls and commune with them, beyond their ability to detect him. That was what angels did.

But this body, it wanted to _touch_ , to feel. Without his full allotment of grace to overwhelm the emotion, he felt the hunger under his skin, the need to press himself against them. It was – somewhat repellant, and yet incredibly compelling.

Dean broke him out of his meditation with a sneeze.

Sam, half asleep, whimpered as Dean rolled over. It was amusing to watch him try to tuck his much larger body back under his brother’s chin.

Their breathing evened out.

But moments later Dean was shifting, feeling around for something even in his sleep, grumbling. “Your brother is safe, Dean,” whispered Castiel. “Stop worrying and get some rest.”

Dean's fingers reached to Castiel’s bed, hooking in the fitted sheet. Just close enough to feel his heat. He settled.

They all slept.

 

-x-x-

 

In the morning Sam woke up in an empty room. Castiel was gone from the other twin bed. Sam sat up slowly, but realized he felt almost back to normal.

The sheets were warm from someone else’s body heat. Dean; it had to be. Sam felt an inappropriate flush at the thought of his brother in his bed, maybe even curled around Sam's back. He knew it was wrong, the feelings he had for his brother – nobody would ever understand. But Dean was just so … so _Dean_. Who could ever resist him?

He could hear dishes clinking in the kitchenette, which was in a separate room around the corner. Sam followed the noise into the light. Cas was nowhere to be seen but Dean was working on breakfast.

“The creature awakes!” Dean caught him under the chin to lift his face, examining him carefully, as Sam rolled his eyes and allowed the inspection. His memories of the end of the hunt were spotty, but he knew how badly it rattled his brother any time he was injured.

Apparently he was judged acceptably healed, based on the ruffled hand through Sam’s hair before he was released. Sam yelped as Dean landed a slap to his ass to send him on his way.

“You want pancakes?”

“Jerk! And sure, I’ll have a few.” Sam was watching the way Dean moved, not quite as fluid as usual. There was a hitch in his step. “Did you have Cas take a look at you yet?”

“I’m fine. He needs to save up his grace.”

Mm-hmm. They’d be coming back to that. But Sam figured he’d give Dean a little more rope to hang himself with. At the moment he was whistling over the stove, doing a little shimmy as he flipped a cake. Sam couldn’t help smiling, watching him. Dean’s happiness had always had a sympathetic effect on him. Dean humming with a full belly made Sam feel safe and content. Dean wound up and anxious made Sam worry too.

“We need to figure out what spell we need to close that demon gate for good,” said Dean, whose thoughts were apparently running along different lines. “There’s got to be something in the archives. All we did is knock over the altar, buy a little time.”

According to Sam’s research, the Tower itself had been formed first time the door to Hell had opened. Apparently in the past the native peoples had summoned a spirit guardian to protect the villages around the tower, but with European occupation, that probably wouldn’t be reappearing. They’d have to find a different spell.

“At least we stopped them for now, and the demons that got through are dead,” said Sam. “That’s the most important part.”

“Hmm.” Dean didn’t look satisfied with that, but he started dishing flapjacks onto a plate. “Cas, you eating some of these? I think you should try.”  

Cas emerged from the tiny en suite bathroom. “I will eat one,” he said, with his usual quiet dignity. Sam knew it wasn’t a good sign that he was eating – but he had to admit that both he and Dean enjoyed giving him new foods to try.

Dean set a plate down in front of both of them. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, watching Sam pick up his fork.

Sam paused. Sometimes Dean asked when he was the one feeling sore. Dean didn’t know he did it and Sam wouldn’t clue him in, because otherwise he’d miss his chance to learn when his brother was hurting.

This was a dance he knew by heart.

“I’m good. I wasn’t the one that hiked out yesterday after that clusterfuck.” Sam was careful to keep his expression neutral, maybe just slightly annoyed. John Winchester’s default state was brusque and harried, so Dean had learned to associate what he called the ‘bitchface’ with safety. If Dean thought he was being coddled they’d be quickly locked in a stupid, pointless battle of wills, with Dean’s pride and his health as the hostages. That was a no-win for Sam.

“I’m just peachy.” Dean set out coffee on the table.

Sam caught Cas’ eye across the table. Sam rolled his.

“You’re hurt,” said Sam, reaching for a long scrape across his knuckles. “Bleeding.” He showed Dean his red-stained fingertips.

Dean shrugged. “S’nothing. Can’t a man eat his pancakes in peace?”

“A different man could, but I want to take a look at you.”

Dean folded his cake and ate it quickly, in a few bites, avoiding Sam’s eyes. “How’s that pancake, Cas?”

“It is good. I like pancakes. But the coffee is even better.”

“Yeah, the trick is starting with cold water. I don’t know why but it really works.”

Sam let him finish his plate and go for a refill before he brushed off his hands. “Alright, come over here,” he said, holding his hand out. “Dean. Enough. Walk over to me, now.”

To his relief Dean strayed closer, allowing Sam to snag his wrist and draw him in, between Sam's knees. “Let up,” he said, when Sam lifted his shirt up to check the bruise over his hips. But he didn't pull away.

“This doesn’t look too bad.”

Dean sneezed into his shoulder and immediately tried to pretend like he didn’t know where the sound had come from.

Sam glanced up. “I think you’re coming down with something, bro.”

“Nah. Allergies or something.”

“Mm. Hold your shirts out of the way.” Dean was, as usual, wearing at least three layers, but he pulled them up around his chest so that Sam could inspect his ribs, running a gentle hand up his brother’s smooth side. Dean was pale here, where the sun hadn’t reached him in months. They should take a case in Florida or something, thought Sam absently, up those freckles to their former glory.

 

 

**__**__**____ _ _ ** _ _ ** _ _ **

 

  

Dean made a soft sound when Sam reached his third rib – looking up at his brother’s face, Sam carefully felt around an irregularity he could only feel under the sensitive pads of his index finger. “Cracked,” he pronounced.

“Is that bad?” asked Cas, sounding anxious.

“He just needs to take it easy for a few days. Right Dean?”

Dean shrugged, and grimaced. He pulled his shirt back down. Sam regretted having to take his hands off of his brother. “How’s that shoulder?”

“Meh, just stiff. It’s okay.”

 _Sure, Dean_. “How about some painkillers?”

“Think I’m good,” said Dean. “We should save those for when we really need `em.”

“They’re about to expire anyway,” Sam lied, reaching for the bottle. He shook out two and slipped the container in his pocket so Dean couldn’t check the date. “Here you go. Knock em back and I’ll get you some water.”

Cas got up to fetch it. Sam heard the sound of ice clinking in the glass.

“M’not thirsty,” said Dean, predictably. He caught sight of Sam’s face and sighed. “Don’t fret, Sammy,” he said gruffly, although his expression was affectionate if you knew where to look. He did take the pills, with a huff. “Happy?”

He lifted an arm to pat Sam’s shoulder even though – judging by the visible grimace – the movement hurt him.

“Jesus, would you just sit down before you fall down?”

“I think Sam is right. You need to rest today,” said Cas, watching with concern. “We can clean up from breakfast. Perhaps you should go lie down.”

Crap. That was going to be too close to ‘babying’ for Dean.

Predictably he pushed away. “I said a million times, I’m fine! A cracked rib is nothing. Few bumps and bruises, par for the course. Nobody needs to fuss over me, nobody needs to tell me what to do. All I need a hot shower and for you guys to get off my back.” Dean stormed out of the kitchenette.

The bathroom door slammed.

Sam sighed. “That went well.”

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Don’t worry about it. Dealing with Dean is more art than science sometimes.”

“He is the most frustrating person I have ever met.” Cas scowled, obviously frustrated. “He is clearly injured and in pain, yet he refuses even basic human medical care out of pride.”

“You know Dean, he has a couple crossed wires,” said Sam ruefully. “Plus he’s been fighting a war for the past ten years, he doesn’t really remember how to take it easy.”

Cas’ bright blue eyes were fixed on the table, avoiding Sam’s gaze. “If my grace recharged faster, I would be of more assistance. A year ago I could have healed you both completely with a touch. Now I can’t even mend some cracked ribs.”

Sam’s heart twisted. He wished his brother could see how much their friend cared about him – how much they _both_ did. “That’s okay, Cas, nobody expects you to. He’ll be okay all on his own, with a little TLC.”

“But … I used to be able to _help_.” For an angel, Cas looked especially pathetic just now, dressed in a spare flannel that was way too big for him.

Sam put his hand on Cas’ shoulder. It was funny how much they had in common sometimes - partly a mutual love for Dean, but also of words, of books, and learning. They had spent so many hours with their heads together, trying to save the world just one more time.

He knew that Cas loved Dean first and best (everybody loved Dean – he was very lovable – Sam loved him too) but he hoped there was a corner of his heart that was just for Sam.

"I know it's hard,” said Sam quietly. “But it’s okay. People get sick sometimes, and then they get better. Dean’s a tough old guy, it takes more than something like this to keep him down. And you still help us, Cas. You help us all the time.”

Cas sighed, leaning into the touch. “Thank you, Sam. I will try to let that be enough.”

 

-x-x-

 

Castiel remembered the moment he first saw Dean, how fascinated he was, how immediately drawn to him – how confused it had made him, going against orders for the human who inexplicably meant everything to him. He had felt awe at the wonder of this new emotion, and in wonder of Dean.

He remembered when they sat on the swings together, confronted with the beauty of creation and the hopelessness of the task in front of them – but united in their determination. How connected they’d felt in that moment. They were still that connected, at some level.

He wished he could convey to Dean how worthy he was, both of his brother’s boundless, patient love, and of … of Castiel’s own, whatever the affections of a light-wave trapped in a human vessel was worth. Watching Sam and Dean together, Castiel could almost get a sense of how powerful a force it could be.

But Dean believed himself soiled, and he was trapped in a mindset that deprived him of his own happiness. Castiel didn’t know how to explain to him that there were many ways to give and receive love, each of them holy.

For now, he could only let himself find comfort in Sam’s strong, steady hand – and wait.

 

-x-x-

 

It took some effort, but finally they bribed Dean into spending most of the day watching crappy cable from the motel bed.

Sam tried to translate an old Sumerian text that proved to be less interesting than Dean’s rattling chest, based on the number of times he stood outside the door listening. He could hear the glass ring of a bottle being set on the ground, then the grunt of Dean readjusting himself.

“Perhaps we can check on him after lunch,” suggested Cas.

“We gotta be strategic. It can’t seem like we’re just there to fuss. Maybe we can offer to watch a movie or something.”

Cas brightened at the suggestion. “The one with the fish!” he suggested eagerly.

Oh God. “Not Finding Nemo _again_ ,” said Sam. Cas had been on an animated-movie kick since he’d worked his way through the entire adult television library of Netflix.

But when they peeked in after lunch, Dean was asleep – and snoring wetly, which usually meant he was congested. There was an empty bottle of cough syrup next to the bed, along with a half-finished forty of El Sol. Sam went to collect them with a sigh.

“We should let him sleep. I will set up the movie in the other room,” whispered Cas, turning to creep back out.

Sam bit his lip, thinking that Dean looked run down and awful. He wished they were closer to the Bunker, where they could get him set up on his own beloved memory foam.

When he looked back down, his brother’s bright eyes were fixed on his face. “Hey, you worrying about me? Don’t need to worry about me, Sammy.” Dean reached to tuck a strand of Sam’s hair behind his ear - which he wouldn’t have done unless he was really, really high on pain meds.

He got kind of cuddly whenever he was drunk or drugged, even though the word would offend him if he ever heard Sam use it. But it was true. Dean liked to have his hands on Sam. And of course Sam loved it.

“I’m not worrying about you,” Sam lied. “Cas is worried about you.”

Dean’s fingers skated down his cheek. His pupils were huge, luminous. He was stoned out of his gourd. Okay, thought Sam fondly, they were definitely not mixing Nyquil and Vicodin in the future.

“Go back to sleep,” whispered Sam. “I was just making sure you didn’t need anything.”

“Creepin’ on me,” Dean muttered. “Creepin’ while I’m sleepin.’”

Sam thumped him – very gently! – with a spare pillow. “Idiot. Get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Sam left him to drift off again. Cas had _Nemo_ cued up and waiting.

 

 

When they next creeped on Dean (after dinner), he was sleeping like a rock, sprawled out in the middle of the mattress. That left Sam and Cas sharing the other bed for the night. It was no big deal – they all ended up bunking together often enough. And right now, they were both pretty drained by the healing of the prior day.

As they got settled, Dean started coughing from the next bed.

“We should take him home tomorrow,” whispered Sam. “He’s definitely coming down with something, and he hates being sick on the road.”

In the half-light, he could see Cas’ lips turn down.

“He’ll be fine,” said Sam, reaching out to reassure the other man. “It's nothing serious.”

Cas’ voice sounded tight, and his eyes were fixed on the other bed. “But – he was injured, and – and we left him alone. And now he’s _sick_.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up,” said Sam, leaning over him, close enough that Cas’ messy hair tickled his chin. “He’s okay. He’s going to recover in no time.” He opened his arms, offering a hug (Dean was asleep and couldn’t mock them, and Sam happened to enjoy a hug now and again). Cas leaned in. He felt small and slight in his arms – sometimes he forgot how much shorter the vessel was.

Sam couldn’t help dropping a shy kiss on Castiel’s temple, which was Dean’s gesture when Sam was upset. It felt right to use it now.

“Thank you, Sam,” said Cas humbly, tucking himself in closer. “You are helping me feel better.”

“I’m glad. Just relax, okay?” Sam tugged Cas back against him with an arm around his waist, laying them both back against the pillows and rubbing a hand between Cas’ bony shoulder-blades.

They had spent so much time, both of them, trying to undo all the mistakes they had made.

“You’re a good man, Sam,” whispered Cas. Their faces were so close.

“You are too, Cas.” It was bittersweet; the angel was more than a man, once.

Sam bent to kiss his forehead again, but Cas turned his face up, slowly and naturally, so that their lips brushed together. Not even a kiss, just a soft, brief press.

Sam paused.

Then Cas sank against his chest until they were cuddled together.

“Goodnight, Sam,” he whispered.

“Ah - goodnight.”

Not knowing what else to do, Sam closed his eyes and let himself drift away as well.

 

-x-x-

 

_Dean dreamed of – something old, that smelled of smoke. Something that dreamed deep in the earth, where the water was heated by fire and rock._

_In its slumber it was indifferent to the mortal lives of man. Many had lived and died, their bones turned to sand, and still it slept._

_But at the right time, in the right season, it could be – awakened._

 

 -x-x-

 

The next morning Sam woke up with the bundle of Cas still in his arms. Cas was asleep – the angel did sleep now, although not usually as long or as deeply as a human – and Sam found himself watching his still, calm face.

He had never thought of being with a man before, besides Dean of course (but Dean didn’t really count – Dean felt almost like an extension of himself, not an entirely separate person).

He wondered what Cas could have possibly been thinking when he kissed him. Maybe – maybe angels didn’t understand that kind of gesture? Sam should probably explain the different ways of showing affection. And if he himself had felt – uh, _something_ , well … that wasn’t Castiel’s problem to deal with.

He felt Cas stir in his arms and tried to hold still, wanting to hold on to the moment a little longer. But it didn’t work.

“Good morning,” Cas rasped.

“Morning,” said Sam.

Cas rested his head on Sam’s chest as they both listened to the sound of the old shower starting up. Dean might have woken up sweaty. Sam reminded himself to find their thermometer.

“I am glad we can do this now,” said Cas.

“Yeah, uh … you know, I’m wondering, what do you think this is?” asked Sam. “Because friends, even good friends, they don’t usually … um …”

“It can be whatever you want it to be, Sam,” said Cas. “I just – I like touching you. It feels good. I like to be with you.”

“I like to be with you too,” said Sam, smiling. Maybe they didn’t need to figure everything out right now.

“May I kiss you again?”

Cas leaned forward that last inch and Sam found himself closing the gap, gently touching their lips together. Cas smelled so good - faintly of ozone, but good - and he fit so perfectly under Sam's arm, and the curve of his vessels hip fit perfectly into Sam's palm.

They withdrew, staring at each other. Sam felt stunned.

“Cas …”

Dean snorted when he came back and saw them curled up together. “I should have warned you, Cas,” he rasped. “Sam’s grabby when he’s sleeping.”

 

-x-x-

 

Sam had proclaimed that since he was feeling fine, and Dean was pretending to be fine, they might as well head back to the bunker first thing after breakfast.

Castiel wondered if Dean would be able to detect any change between them, but he was sulking in the backseat because Sam wouldn’t let him drive, and he ended up sleeping most of the way home. Castiel wished he was awake; he wanted to talk about his feelings for Sam, and the newly physical element of their relationship. Dean would be able to explain the needs of this vessel, and how best to satisfy them.

He was entirely new to desire, and it could be overwhelming. Castiel knew only the mechanics, not the implementation. Like hand-to-hand combat, or metaphysics, some things were only understood through experience.

Sam, behind the wheel, kept glancing over at him, meeting his eyes and smiling.

He wondered if kissing Samuel had been this vessel’s first experience with another male. He didn’t pretend to understand all the complexities of human sexuality, but he could say definitively that it had been – enjoyable. He would like to repeat the experience.

Was it also Sam’s first experience with a man? Dean, he knew, had many such encounters – more women than men, but plenty of men too. He was always careful to keep the latter secret, but perhaps now that they were all performing homosexual acts, he would no longer feel the need to hide.

Inexplicable, Castiel found that he preferred to believe that Sam was as innocent of such things as he himself was. There was a low stirring in his belly that he identified as – possessiveness.

“Almost there, Cas,” said Sam.

Castiel nodded. “I am glad.”

For some reason Sam was turning pink. Castiel found it appealing.

He didn’t know exactly what they were doing, but he knew he liked it.

 

 

By the time they finally pulled up to the bunker, Castiel was sure he wasn’t the only one breathing a sigh of relief. He had begun to understand that having a place to call home was essential to the psychology of humans – and even he was not immune to it.

“Well, we made it,” said Sam. “Any hunt you can walk away from, I guess.”

Dean clambered out of the back seat. “Go team.” He thumped Castiel on the arm as he passed. “Thanks for all your help on this one, buddy.” He limped off towards the store-room, where Castiel knew he kept a well-stocked supply of alcohol. His brother trailed after him, trying unobtrusively to offer his assistance – but Dean shouldered him out of the way.

“Take it easy on the booze!” Sam hollered after him. Then he turned to Castiel. “He’s right. We really owe you one this time. Thank you.” He held up his arms in invitation, and Castiel stepped in willingly, letting his vessel be enfolded by Sam’s bigger body. Of all the Winchester rituals, the near-death hug was the one in which he was most honored to participate.

Castiel closed his eyes and listened to Sam’s strong, steady heartbeat. He had such a gentle, loving soul, and a burning desire always to do right. Truly his father had outdone himself when he had produced these two faithful men.

The door opened, and Dean approached them with three glasses of dark brown liquid. “Lord, you leave them alone for a few minutes and they grow matching vaginas.”

Castiel felt Sam’s smile against his temple.

“I’ll get you in a moment,” Sam promised. “Wait your turn.”

Dean waved a hand at him, carefully setting the drinks on the table and shuffling back towards the kitchen, presumably to start dinner.

They’d survived, thought Castiel. They’d all survived another day.

Sam let him go, shooting him another one of those hard-to-place expressions that he’d been making all day. It did not seem to be what Dean called the “bitchface,” but it was not quite a happy expression either. It was … hopeful? Expectant? Castiel was not quite sure how to read it.

“I’ll probably spend a few hours writing down my notes from this case,” said Sam. “I’ll be in the library if you’re – if you get bored.”

“Alright, I’ll bring your dinner in there,” said Castiel. He was hoping Dean would make burgers. It seemed that he was hungry more and more often, lately.

“Oh, um, yeah, okay. Thanks.”

Castiel headed to the kitchen, but he found it empty. Instead, he found the eldest Winchester digging through the boxes in one of the bunker’s many store-rooms.

“Dean, what are you looking for?”

“Oh, I was just trying to see if the Men of Letters had anything more on closing that door. It just seems like it ought to be possible, you know?”

“At least you disrupted the altar. We have time to figure out how to keep the gate from opening again.”

“You’re right,” said Dean. He was briefly distracted by a box of miscellaneous magical charms, unsorted and piled into hex boxes without attrition. Castiel wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he had an open book on the table next to him. “How’s your grace doing?” he asked, not looking up.

“It is recharging. Just – very slowly. I used up our only vial of “back-up juice.” It will take me some time to replace it.”

“Guess we’d better be careful for a while,” said Dean.

“Please do,” said Castiel fervently.

“What’s Sammy up to?”

“He said he was going to be updating his notes in the library.”

“Nerd,” said Dean fondly. “Are you hungry? What do you want for dinner?” He marked the place in one of the pages.

“Burgers!” said Castiel.

“Then burgers it shall be. I’d say you’ve earned them.”

 

-x-x-

 

Sam was still nursing his scotch in one of the big chairs of the library, after way too much grease and fat for dinner, when Dean gave up the ghost and headed back to his room to get ready for bed. At least he was taking it easy – Sam had known heading back to the Bunker was the right call.

He heard the shower start up in the other room.

Cas lingered in the doorframe, watching him.

“Everything okay?” asked Sam. He wasn’t sure the other man would come, or if he even knew there was an invitation.

He had no idea how to take it to the next level with a partner who a) wasn't female and b) wasn't human - had never even *been* human. Weirdly, he really wished he could ask Dean. Dean had talked him through his first crush, first kiss, first ... everything.

Cas flitted closer. “I am … okay,” he said.

“Well, that’s good to hear.”

“Dean seems improved, even without the benefit of my grace.”

“You brought us home, Cas, that’s the most important thing,” said Sam. “Dean can never relax until he knows the hunt is over. Now he can get some rest.” He took a chance, raising a hand in case Cas wanted to take it; he did, and let himself be drawn in, straddling Sam’s lap.

He fit there perfectly, just the right height for their faces to align.

“Cas, do you … do you know what you’re doing?” Sam asked tentatively. His powers may have been diminished, but he was still a celestial being. He saw life crawl out of the primordial ooze. And Sam was dirty and primitive even among humans – he didn’t want to get his … impure lusts all over an angel.

“No,” said Castiel. “I have never done this before.”

“Me neither,” said Sam shyly. “Maybe we … we can figure it out together?”

Sam lifted his hips a little, unable to help himself, to grind against the smaller man; and smiled into Cas’ mouth to feel him press down in answer.

Cas shifted on top of him, still straddling his thighs, and Sam automatically raised his hands to rove over Cas’ back, down to his backside. Cas’ lips were cool, and Sam didn’t press, sliding his tongue along the seam.

Dean dropped his shaving bag.

Both of them whipped around to see him, standing in the doorway. _It’s not what it looks like_ , Sam thought – that old cliché – although in fact, it was.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” asked Cas.

Dean was backing up and almost stumbling over the lip of the doorway. He spun around and headed for the hallway. Sam scrambled out from under Cas to follow him. “Dean, hey. Hey,” said Sam, following him out of the room. “C’mon, wait a minute, would you? Dean!”

“Sam, it’s okay,” said Dean. “I’m not mad. It’s fine, Sammy.” He went back through the hallway to the kitchen, where his black duffel was still sitting on the chair from last night. He dumped it out and started sorting through it. “It’s good. I’m happy for you. I just – I didn’t realize.”

“Will you stop a minute and talk to me?”

“I’m gonna get out of your hair,” said Dean, shoving a few items back in the duffel. “Give you guys some space. I’ll call you.” His hands were shaking, and Sam couldn’t help but notice he’d packed four pairs of socks and no underwear.

“We don’t need space, man,” said Sam. “We don’t want space.” But just by saying “ _we_ ” he could tell he was hurting his case.

Dean was already hefting the bag onto his bad shoulder, making a face. He staggered backwards towards the door. To Sam’s experienced eye he was still limping: Dean’s bad leg – the one the Leviathan broke, that had never set quite right because he’d cut the cast off too soon, _and who’s fault was that, Sammy?–_ ached dully whenever they were expecting bad weather.

“Dean, don’t – hey, get back here, can we talk about this?”

At least he couldn’t go anywhere, Sam reminded himself, trying to calm down; Sam had the keys to the Impala in his own pocket, even if Dean was dumb enough to drive with busted ribs.

But Dean pulled what looked like a grey marble out of his pocket and crushed it in his fist. It started glowing as it crumbled into chalk, then a wind whipped up out of nowhere. “Dean,” said Sam, “what did you – ” right before Dean disappeared.

 _God damn it, Dean!_ Some stupid witchcraft somebody left around the bunker.

“ _Dean!_ ” he hollered – but there was no answer.

 

 -x-x-

 

It hurt, sure – it hurt like hell, but it was good, too, because now he knew, there was a sense of finality. Dean could stop looking at Cas’ scruffed-up hair and wondering what it would feel like to flatten it back down for him, torturing himself by imagining the soft bristles under his palm. He could stop noticing the shape of Sam’s generous mouth, tucked up into one of those little smirks he shot when he didn’t want to admit that one of Dean’s cracks was pretty funny. None of that was for him.

Dean parked his stolen pickup in a grassy field, whistling tunelessly.

It was a great day to make the world a better place.

Sure, at first the sight of his baby brother with his arms around their angel had felt like being shot right in the guts. Which was something that had actually happened to him more than once, so he would know.

But he’d had time to think about it.

Maybe he’d had a chance with Cas once, but of course everything had gotten twisted up the way it always did; a few more world ending threats under the belt, both of them making choices they regretted, and the chance had slipped away.

There was nobody to blame but himself, really: he hadn’t spoken up, hadn’t put the words out there. So if Sam had? That was good on him.

And it made sense, really. It made sense that the two of them would … yeah.

Yeah, it was good. It was terrific.

Cas could keep Sammy safe, better than Dean ever could – hadn’t they just proven that? Cas was the best thing Dean had to offer. What was he going to do, try to keep that from Sam? Even Dean wasn’t that much of a jerk.

And Dean always, always ruined everything he touched. If he gave himself enough time, he’d ruin this too. He’d make them feel guilty about it, just like he did to Sam over Stanford. He knew he was wrong to hold it against the kid, just because he wanted a future that didn’t involve a big brother hanging around all the time.

Just like he did when Cas could have gone to go back to heaven.

He’d always taken everything away from the people he loved – and he didn’t want to do it again. He just needed to get himself out of the way this time, before he spoiled everything.

Well, thanks to the Bunker’s never-ending bag of tricks, Dean had a little gift for the happy couple: a way to close that Gate, once and for all. He could keep himself busy taking care of that, let the two of them … uh. Anyway.

He took the second bean out of the bag. It was just a grey old thing, hard as a stone against the fleshy pads of his hand. The other one crumbled to dust but this one made shards that sliced his skin as he ground it in his palm.

He had the charm in his other hand: beads and buffalo skin, an old claw and a broken pipe. Those moldy books in the bunker had more or less guaranteed that, if he played his cards right, those demon sons of bitches would have one less way to get out into the world.

He was raised to hate magic, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to use it. There was plenty times a hunter had to blur the lines. What was an exorcism, really, but another kind of spell? What was summoning a crossroads demon, or a ghost, or an angel? Dean had used scrying spells to find old bones when there was no other record. He’d broken curses, torn up hex bags – and made them, too – and he’d read every obscure, unholy book in the Bunker. He could do this.

The world had bigger problems than Dean’s Winchester’s bruised ego.

Maybe he was still feeling a little under the weather, maybe he was still a little thrown by the sight of his two favorite people locked in a passionate clinch. But he was going to drag his sorry ass up that freaking rock and plant this bastard where it belonged. He could do this for Cas and Sammy – give them a safer world.

He pictured the grey, forbidding tower. The bean would know where to take him.

“Come on, Dean,” he muttered. “You’ve got this. Don’t be a pussy.”

He opened his hands to let the dust and blood drop down onto the floor. There was a roll of thunder - and he disappeared.

 

-x-x-

 

Castiel closed the laptop with a sigh. There was still no sign of Dean, despite Sam’s increasingly inventive searches (first merely discreet inquiries, then select security feeds, now traffic cameras). It had been two days, in which Sam had not slept and had barely eaten.

The discord of his aura, searching for its other half, was painful to Castiel’s second sight. Sam needed his brother, their shared souls bleeding when separated.

Castiel leaned back in the overstuffed chair that he preferred during research session. “Samuel?”

There was no answer. Probably he was on the phone, hounding Jody, as he believed Dean was likely to head there – apparently, he used to frequent Bobby Singer’s house on the occasions that the brothers clashed. This was the next best thing.

Wherever he was, Castiel hoped he was safe.

Serving the Righteous Man was the greatest honor of Castiel’s very long life. His love for his brother was the most beautiful thing Castiel had ever seen … and he wanted to be a part of it. But Sam seemed to feel that they had injured Dean in some way, taken something away from him.

Castiel knew he was guilty of letting Dean down so many times. Surely this wasn’t another example.

He allowed his eyes to close, knowing his vessel required rest.

It was true that Castiel had loved Dean first - and his love for Dean had led him to Sam. They were so different and yet so perfectly complementary, like gold and silver, like peanut butter and jelly.

And Samuel … Sam was the embodiment of everything Castiel loved about humans. He made mistakes, but then he tried to fix them. No matter what happened, he got back on his feet and kept trying. He was earnest and true. His dedication to Dean, his patience, his faith – it was dazzling.

“Cas?” Quiet footfalls. A shadow stood over him, visible through his closed eyelids. “You asleep?” He wasn’t, but he allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of Sam, brushing his hair out of his face. Dean had touched him like that once. In Purgatory, after a long, guilty separation – Dean had found him, and touched his cheek. Combed greedy fingers through his short hair, whispered praise and reassurance. Words that Castiel hadn’t been able to accept, at the time.

He opened his eyes, catching Sam’s hand and holding it. “I’m awake. Did you rest?”

“Tried. Couldn’t. I just – he better be alright. I don’t know what I’m going to do if …”

Castiel turned his face into Sam’s giant palm and pressed a kiss there. It was a gesture he’d seen on television. He was still struggling to use his body, and the few inadequate words the Winchesters allowed themselves, to express what he used to convey through infinitely complex, overlapping melodies.

“He will be fine, Samuel. You need to take care of yourself so you can welcome him back.”

Sam withdrew his hand to rake it through his hair, which needed a wash, and then down his face, which was drawn. “I just wish I knew where he’d gone. He does crazy things when he thinks he’s … losing me, you know? And he’s going to see this as another time I turned away from him.”

“Nobody is turning away from anybody,” said Castiel. “We are all merely in the process of getting closer together, that is all. It is confusing in the middle. In the end it will all be clear.”

“I’m … not really sure what you mean by that, but it sounds good. If you’ve got some magic way to fix all this, I really want to hear it.”

 _Magic_ … of course. Humanity was making Castiel an idiot. “I do not have a way to fix everything, but I do have an idea for how to find him,” he said. That would have to be enough. And judging by Sam’s face, it was.

It took him some time to find the right battered textbook in the library, one that been described to him by an old friend. Meg had been many things, but – she did know her magic. Buried among the wrinkled pages was a locating spell to find a missing loved one. It was grey magic at best … but Sam was desperate.

The youngest Winchester didn’t even ask any questions, besides “What do we need to cast it?”

They only needed something tied to Dean. In the end, they used a piece of Sam’s hair. Castiel held it over a map of the United States as Sam lit it, watching carefully for the falling embers to land.

Ensorcelled, no part of the map burned - except for one neat, familiar circle.

“Why the hell would he go back there?” asked Sam.

“Perhaps he found the research he was looking for. He seemed preoccupied by the cave art he saw on the mountain. I saw him looking through the library.”

“I’m going to kill him,” said Sam, grabbing his backpack and forgetting his coat, although it was February. Castiel picked it up for him and followed him out the door.

 

-x-x-

 

Dean left the cabin where he’d crashed for a legitimately unpleasant night – no insulation, natch – and set out for the river. An hour later he was limping slowly up the same trail he’d hiked down less than a week ago, muttering the sacred words under his breath. He didn’t want to screw it up, and he didn’t have Sam along to point out any sloppy spellwork this time.

The ritual didn’t seem so complicated. Take a bucket of water from the Belle Fource river, carry it to the Gate, chanting the incantation as he went. Sure it was a pretty steep walk – uphill the whole way – but they had managed a similar route before. Of course, he was feeling a little better then.

At least it wasn’t raining this time. But it was freezing cold, the ground was covered with light snow. A few more flakes drifted down, melting the moment they landed on his shirt. The wind was picking up too. Dean had his rain jacket but it wasn’t sufficient after a few good gusts. The snow was soaking into his hair, burning his scalp.

He did realize that Sam would have checked the weather before they left.

The words he was chanting were an old, long-dead language (he just memorized the sound of the syllables; one of his contacts out in Wichita checked the translation for him). It sounded dusty and dry in the air, like old leaves.

 _Ta-nah-serrus-al-dee-sept-uhn_ , _Tee-ran-nish-ta-sree …_

While his tongue rattled off the incantation by rote, Dean forced himself to concentrate. The bucket of water hadn’t started out so heavy, but felt like he was carrying an iron anvil now.

The charm burned faintly in his hand, drawn to the right spot by sympathetic magic. At this point Dean couldn’t have found entrance himself , even if the snow was blown clear - but according to what he’d read, he wouldn’t need to. When he got close enough, he would know. If he was strong enough.

He looked up and cursed. The base of the Tower still looked impossibly far from here. He wasn’t dressed for this, his ribs were killing him, and he was running out of faith. But Dean clenched the charm in his fist and kept climbing.

He didn’t need to understand exactly how the spell worked. As long as he offered his own sweat and his own determination, it would do its own thing. The door would be, not just closed, but destroyed entirely, meaning those demon sons of bitches wouldn’t be able to get back into the world through this particular route, ever again. There was some semi-concerning language in the book about what might happen to him, when the door was slammed shut, but – well, to be honest, he wasn’t so concerned about that.

Dean gripped the charm and kept up the chant.

Whatever happened, he didn’t have any regrets. After all the crap he and Sammy had gone through, all the ups and downs, they’d ended up on the same side, in a place where Dean could give his brother a hug if he wanted and not even feel that weird about it (Sam gave great hugs). He’d had a best friend who he’d follow straight into heaven or hell, who he knew would turn around and follow him right back.

No, it hadn’t been a bad run. Whatever happened, he couldn’t complain.

He almost tripped over a root, barely able to keep his feet. It was hard to say whether the spell was draining him, or he was just losing steam. Maybe some of both. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to stop now.

The water in the bucket began to steam. Dean closed his eyes, trying to keep the cough from bubbling up in his chest. He forced himself to keep his mind blank, concentrating on the unfamiliar words, rasping them out. He doubted that he was pure enough of heart – not anymore – to cast spells that depended on that, but he still had strength of will.

The water started boiling. He slammed the charm into the snow, which it melted straight through, blistering hot now – a bolt of light shot out as the thing must have hit rock. Dean lifted the bucket – god, it weighed a ton – still chanting, and upended it over the scarred earth. As it poured into the cracks in the rocks there was a growl from deep underground.

Dean managed to cover his ears before the rumbling, like a building roar of rage, took over everything he knew. He thought he could make out the shape of – claws, and thick fur. The sky turned red, Dean’s eyes were dazzled, and something snapped into place like a lock in a key.

Dean was knocked from his feet, the chant breaking off mid word – but that was okay, the spell was already cast, it would work or not from here. There was intense pressure, like something was bursting through …

Dean lost consciousness just as everything fell silent.

 

-x-x-

 

It had only been three days since Dean had stormed out of the Bunker, but by now Sam had moved past frantic and into the dull panic he remembered from when Dean was in Hell or Purgatory , or when his Demon version bailed on the bunker; an aching need to _find Dean, find Dean_ that made it hard to think.

Thank God for Cas, coaxing him to eat and shower and try to rest. They’d slept nights in Dean’s bed (that was weird, right? He was pretty sure that was weird) curled up together like children. They weren’t even doing anything, just feigning sleep with their arms around each other.

There had been some kissing and a lot of what Sam was embarrassed to admit was cuddling - but it hadn't gone any further than that. So far, Sam had shied away from anything below the waist. Cas seemed biddable, like he would go along with anything Sam initiated, but that was … actually part of the problem.

It wasn’t like gaping hole of his brother’s absence was putting him in a romantic mood anyway.

Castiel had taken the chance of wasting grace to transport them to what turned out to be an off season cabin, which had Dean’s duffel sitting packed in the corner and a cot that looked slept in. There was a beat-up pickup behind back, no doubt recently lifted from a park and ride, which was Dean’s preferred hunting grounds whenever he was separated from his beloved impala.

Down by the creek behind the cabin there were prints from a worn pair of work boots.

God, Sam couldn’t wait to punch Dean right in his smug beautiful face. Taking on a hunt like this, half-cocked, something that could have waited: he was injured, he was sick, he was upset about what he’d seen – the _last_ place he needed to be was out there fighting the good fight.

“Let’s go, Samuel,” said Cas, already starting down the trail ahead of him. “The sooner we find him, the sooner we can take him home.”

 

They hiked for several hours in the frigid cold. They ended up connecting to a familiar trail, one that turned to head towards the Tower. They followed it for more than a mile when they found it – the remains of the demon gate, now a charred-out hole in the earth. And next to it, Dean, unconscious, lying on his side.

Sam ran to his side, shaking him wildly. “Dean! Hey, Dean. Dean. Look at me, man. Look at me.”

Dean, thank the Gods, whichever ones were listening, stirred when Sam rolled him over onto his back. His skin was pale and cool to the touch, but not waxy or blue. His fingers, when Sam gently examined them, were still pink, and they flexed in his hand.

“Help me get him up,” said Sam, taking hold of his arm. But when Cas came forward to take his other side Dean flipped out, jerking away from both of them and inching back up the floor.

“Dean,” said Cas, crouching next to him. “Dean, we’re here to help you.”

“Hey, hey, now.” Sam pushed himself right into Dean’s face, breathing in the same air. “Stop,” he said, catching Dean’s jaw and holding his head still to keep eye contact. Dean didn’t resist the manhandling - Dean never pulled away from him, even after all the times Sam (or something wearing Sam) had beat the crap out of him.  “It’s me, Sam - it's Sammy, and Cas, you’re alright, Dean. You’re alright.”

Dean stopped struggling and met Sam’s eyes, squinting in faint confusion. Sam used the opportunity to leverage him up to sit, holding his eyes the whole time. “There you go, that’s better, isn’t it.”

“Nuh,” said Dean.

“Cas, can you get us all back to the cabin?” asked Sam, stroking Dean’s jaw. “Do you have enough power?”

Castiel hesitated. “I have just enough, but I may not be able to heal him.”

“That’s okay,” said Sam, certain that most important thing was for them to be somewhere safe and warm - together. “We’ll take it.”

 

-x-x-

 

To Castiel, Sam seemed to have a hundred hands – coaxing Dean’s head up, settling his protests with a pat to the shoulder, lifting his shirt to examine his ribs, taking his pulse, pulling his eyelid down, feeling for fever. Dean scrunched up his face but didn’t bother to resist.

“Your belly hurt?” asked Sam, running his palm over the area, his eyes tracking between the pale skin and his brother’s face. “No? How about your neck – stiff at all? You’re dehydrated, you dummy,” he added, pinching the skin of Dean’s arm. Dean yelped, a reaction not commensurate with the pain of the injury, and Sam absentmindedly rubbed the area as his examination moved on. “Let me see, Dean. Stop it. Let me see.”

It was a blessing, Castiel thought, to be able to witness the two brothers together, their souls hungrily drinking in the other. He could never tire of it.

“Cas, we’ve got to get him something he can keep down. When’s the last time you ate, huh?” Dean didn’t offer an answer and Sam didn’t seem to expect one.

Castiel was amazed by how he kept talking to Dean even though Dean wasn’t answering.

He was holding Dean's head still with one broad palm curved around his cheek, ignoring his half-hearted attempt to shift away. “Quit that,” he ordered absently. “That hurt? No? Good, Dean. You’re alright, aren’t you. Just gotta to get you some fluids and about twelve hours shut-eye, huh. That what you need?”

“How is he?”

Sam caught Dean’s hand and tugged it away from the shoulder he was protecting. “Stop that,” he murmured, his attention absorbed by the injury. “This is looking okay. You’re lucky you didn’t pop it out again. He’s going to be fine, Cas. We just need to stay on top of this chest cold, keep it from going to pneumonia. We can do that with common medicine. Do you want to sit with him? He’s going to worm out of this blanket if we don’t watch him.”

Castiel was happy to participate in the blanket ritual. He sat next to Dean and put his arm around the hunter’s shoulders.

“You’ll be feeling better soon, Dean,” he murmured, his vessel pleased by the line of their bodies, touching. He imagined that he could send waves of healing through the connection, although he no longer had the power.

Sam had returned and was preoccupied trying to persuade Dean to drink a beverage made from crushed citrus. Dean was disoriented and seemed reluctant.

“We’ll get him into bed, get him settled before we try to get the story of whatever-that-was back there,” said Sam, giving up on the beverage and brooding over his brother's ragged knuckles, which were still split and bloody from the previous fight.

 Castiel waited until he wasn't looking to heal them with a touch of grace.

“He’s going to bounce right back, you’ll see,” said Sam.

But Castiel could feel the sadness coming from the human under his arm, and he didn’t think it was going to be that easy.

 

-x-x-

 

Finally having Dean here, quiet under his hands, Sam hardly knew where he wanted to start. “Let’s get him out of these clothes first,” he decided. “Can you fetch me his duffel from the other room?”

While Cas went, Sam worked his brother’s flannel off, then his wife beater. The idiot was in no way dressed for 23 degrees with scattered flurries.

The whole of his side was a massive black bruise, spreading like an ink stain over his ribs. “Oh, Dean.” It wouldn’t look like that if Sam had been there to take care of him; Sam would have treated him with ice and liniment and Motrin, and kept him off his feet. Dean had probably been poking it intermittently just to feel the pain.

“You better have bought that firewood out back, Dean,” he said conversationally, “because if I find out you chopped it with those busted ribs I’m going to sell you to the circus.”

Dean was shivering, jaw clenched to keep in any sound. Sam gritted his teeth. He couldn’t stand it when his louder-than-life, pain-in-the-ass big brother was quiet and small.

“Alright, here we go.” He hoisted them up and helped him stagger into the bedroom, getting him seated on the little cot. Dean immediately tried to curl into the blankets. He wasn’t a small guy, but Sam’s hands were so large that his fingers easily encircled his forearms. He held on. “Cut it out. I’m going to take a look at you and see what damage you’ve done to yourself. Then you’re going to take your pills with no bitching. Then you’re going to put up with our nagging for the next week, and God help me if I hear even one complaint.”

“S’my,” said Dean.

Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean remained passive as Sam checked him over, soaking up the attention quietly. The more Dean would allow him to fuss, the more Sam would try to get away with – that was just the nature of their relationship.

He let his fingers trail over the skin of Dean's back, marked with old scars. Sam wanted to kill every living thing that had ever dared to hurt his brother. Even though some of the scars were caused by his own fists.

“How is he?” asked Cas, coming back with the medkit and one of Sam’s own shirts from Dean’s duffel. Sam didn’t comment, although he registered it as one that had been missing from his room.

Sam helped Dean shrug in it, buttoning up the front for him when he stared blankly at the buttons. “He’s okay. Just needs some TLC and maybe a straight jacket.”

“Nn.”

“Lay back. Nobody’s talking to you,” Sam informed Dean, pulling the blankets up.

His eyelids were drooping. Sam got him settled, noting with remorse that Dean was grey and silent and not even bitching about “giant paws” or “overprotective little sisters.”

“Should he sleep now?” asked Cas.

Sam’s hand was combing through Dean’s hair. “No, he’s going to eat something, and have some water first, aren’t you,” he bossed, knowing that Dean wasn’t really tracking enough to protest.

“But he’s okay?”

“He’s not dying yet. Despite his best efforts. You dummy, Dean,” Sam complained, sliding his palm down his brother’s cheek.

He knew he got a little grabby whenever Dean was hurt. But Dean was dazed, probably from pain - pain that Sam contributed to, and Sam's mind was already spinning with schemes to help him feel better.

“I’m going to go look for another blanket. Stay with him.” But when Sam moved from his side, Dean stiffened and reached for him. “Nuh,” he muttered, before he bit off the exclamation, immediately dropping his hand and curling into himself.

“Hey, hey,” said Sam, returning at once to his side, stroking his hair back. “I’m right here. We’re here. Not going anywhere.”

He wasn’t sure that Dean was really tracking, but his rumpled face smoothed out at the gesture, and his lip, which was clamped between his teeth, popped back out.

“How about Cas sits with you and keeps you company while I see if I can find something?” Sam suggested, glancing meaningfully at the angel, who was sitting silently observing the brothers.

“Here I am, Dean,” said Cas at once.

This time Dean didn’t resist when Sam moved away, distracted by the angel who was sitting next to him on their bed, both of them contemplating the other. Sam hid a smile at Cas’ earnest expression; he was clearly taking the job of keeping Dean company as seriously as any of heaven’s orders.

Cas shifted to sit close to him and reached out a hesitant hand to stroke Dean’s hair just like Sam had done. Dean turned into the touch with a sigh and relaxed.

Sam came back with the extra sleeping bag from his pack. He wanted to get something heated up, maybe get some soup into Dean if he’d take it. He didn’t like Dean’s color, and his fingertips still felt cool to the touch. But he didn’t want to leave his brother’s side, not with Dean out of it – he was unpredictable when he was hurt or disoriented, and Sam was probably the only one who could keep him calm.

“What can I do, Sam?” asked Cas.

“Could you – do you know how to heat up a can of soup on a camp stove? We’ll let him rest a bit, but I want him to eat something later.”

“I used to operate the grill at the Gas-N-Sip,” said Cas importantly. “I believe the principles are the same.”

Sam smiled. “Great. That would be a big help. He likes tomato with rice, there should be a can in my bag.”

Sam tucked the sleeping bag around him, then sat down close enough on the edge of the bed that his thigh was pressing against Dean’s side. Dean fretted, reaching for – something. He caught and held Dean’s hand and pressed it down to the bed, patting it absently. Dean grunted, half-turning his face to follow Sam, and at the pat his face smoothed out.

But he was at it again in another minute.

“Hey, you gonna take it easy?” Sam didn’t reach to untuck the blankets. “You want to stop causing trouble, or do you want us to go for the Nyquil?”

“M’not causing - trouble,” Dean gritted out. Sam and Cas both reached for the water on the side table at the same time.

“Stop talking,” Sam ordered, trying to help Dean up to sit up. “Can you drink some of this for me? Hey. Dean. Stop squirming and drink this.”

Dean hissed and Sam froze. “Dean? What’s up? Am I hurting you? Hey – Dean?” He must have moved wrong, pulled something. Sam found himself pressed up against his brother’s side, talking low and soothing into Dean’s ear before he even knew he’s doing it. “Take it easy,” he murmured, patting Dean’s chest. “Easy, you’re alright. You’re fine. Quit being such a drama queen.” But he dropped a hand down to circle Dean’s wrist, his thumb sliding into the notch between the tendons. Squeezed.

“He’s alright, Sam,” Cas promised, holding the cup for Dean to drink from. Dean accepted it without a murmur, which made Sam feel even worse.

“Yeah, he’ll be okay. I think he’s mostly just worn out.”

“M’right here. Don’t – talk about me like I’m not in the room.” Dean wiped his runny nose on his sleeve. Sam made a face and handed him a tissue.

“Our apologies,” said Cas, not sounding entirely sincere.

Sam was busying himself bundling the blankets close. Dean fussed and Sam ignored it, tucking them together in the front. “Leave those, I’m trying to keep your temp up so you don’t get sicker. Now you need to eat something. Cas can heat you up some soup, if that sounds good.”

“Mn.” Dean licked his lips, didn’t turn his head. Stubborn, thought Sam.

“C’mon, you need something in your stomach for the good drugs.”

“Not hungry,” said Dean.

“I’ll get you anything you want.” Uh, that they had in one of their backpacks.

“Coffee,” said Dean.

“If you’ll take it with cream, maybe.” Sam knew he didn’t even want coffee, he was just being difficult.

“Blergh. Not the one who …” Dean paused to cough into his sleeve. “… Drinks girlie coffee, Sammina.”

“You require electrolytes, Dean,” said Cas quietly. “Juice? There’s some here, will you drink that?”

Dean nodded dully, not much interested.

Sam cracked the half-frozen bottle. “Here you go. Careful.”

“M’good, Sammy,” said Dean, dazedly.

“Yeah, I know, tough guy, you’re great. Nothing at all the matter with you. You could take on a whole nest of vamps with nothing but a pair of chopsticks.”

“Damn straight,” said Dean, a smile cracking his pale face.

“But there’s nothing to kill right now, unfortunately,” Sam continued dryly. “Nothing to do but huddle up here, so you might as well take it easy for a while, right? Chill out. Rest up for next time. Have some juice.”

Dean rolled his eyes but sipped reluctantly.

“That’s it,” said Sam, watching approvingly as the level of liquid decreased. “Gonna be feeling better in no time, big bro. You want some more?”

“Didn’t wan’ the first one,” Dean complained, holding the bottle out of Sam’s reach.

"I have more in my backpack, when we require more," put in Cas.

"Maybe in a minute."

Dean cracked an eye. “Need to piss,” he interjected.

Sam sighed and finished up, wiping his hands. “Alright. Gimme a sec.” It took all of them working together to lever Dean to his feet and help him across the room to the toilets. Cas, pleased to be given an assignment, stayed with him in the bathroom, and Sam couldn’t help noticing that Dean didn’t send him away.

When he was done they made their way back to the bed – Dean listing badly now.

“What does he need, Sam?” asked Cas.

“I want him to sleep propped up. Do you want to help?”

Cas slid over in the bed, and Sam got Dean settled, leaning against Castiel’s chest, comfortably situated between his spread legs.

“Pills before you fall asleep,” warned Sam.

No answer. Sam examined his face; he was running out of steam. “C’mon, Dean. How about we take these –” he scooped up the capsules “– and then turn in?” He held the pills to his brother’s lips. “C’mon,” he hummed. “Open up.”

“Mn,” said Dean, wrinkling his face. Cas rubbed his back and he relented. Then he accepted a sip of water when Cas held it for him.

Sam hid his smile. Big baby.

“I’m so pissed at you right now, don’t even talk to me,” he whispered, stroking Dean's cheek. Dean hummed happily.

Dean leaned forward to rest his head on Sam’s shoulder and Sam closed his eyes, trying not to get too emotional and ruin the moment. He slid an arm around his brother and Cas both - not squeezing them, just keeping him there.

“We’re gonna take good care of you,” Sam whispered, knowing that he could only say it to Dean now, while his brother was half asleep and totally trusting. “Both of us. You’ll see.”

 

-x-x-

 

Dean woke up the next morning feeling like hammered crap. He sat up slowly and reached for the bottle of water that Sammy had left by his bedside.

“Take it easy,” said Sam from next to him – but Dean was so thirsty he couldn't stop gulping down the water, groaning at how good it felt hitting the hot, dry back of his throat. Sam was trying to stop him, but he couldn't let up.

Finally big hands took the bottle away from him. “You’re going to make yourself sick,” Sam scolded, rubbing his back as if to help the water go down.

Dean licked his lips, knowing Sam was probably right but still thirsty.

Sam and Cas were both in bed with him, one on either side, which should have seemed weirder than it did. It wasn’t the first couple Dean had woken up with, he guessed. He still felt a dull pang of pain at that thought, Sam and Cas as a _couple_ … but it was distant now. Maybe the pain of rejection was wearing off, or maybe he was too beat up to push them away right now – Dean was just glad to see them.

“Lean back against the pillows, if you’re up,” Sam was fussing. Dean glanced over fondly. Sam and his god-damned pillows. “Dean, c’mon, I mean it, take some of the pressure off your ribs. Are you listening to me?”

“I’m listening, I’m listening.” Dean let himself give in, just this once, and allowed his brother to help him get settled. “The gate, it - it closed, right? Did you see it?”

He could just barely remember the force of something, something old and powerful, as it blasted past him. He didn’t ask if Sam had seen it. He knew he hadn’t.

“Yeah, it’s closed. Good job, idiot. It wasn’t worth almost killing yourself over.”

“One less place for the demons to get into our world,” Dean grunted, leaning back gingerly. He had to admit, Sam had set up the bed just right, like a throne. “I’d call that a good day’s work.”

He knew without asking that the Spirit was gone. Back to sleep.

“You could have died, Dean,” said Cas, his voice gravelly.

Dean shook his head. Some things were worth dying for. Although maybe it was good – it was probably good that it hadn’t come to that.

“I told you we could find a way to do it together, one that didn’t almost crack your ribcage open.”

Dean didn’t answer. There wasn’t anything he could say that would make Sam understand. Sam was the one who had all the words, all the data. Dean only had whatever he felt in his gut. He didn’t win a lot of arguments that way.

“Sam,” said Cas, cautioning. No doubt they thought Dean still required the kid-glove treatment. He snorted at the thought, although it almost made him start coughing again.

Both of them reached to thump him on the back. Jeez, they really were in synch.

Was it really the wrong call, heading out to take care of trouble, letting his brother and his best friend have quality time together? Sure, he’d taken some knocks, but that wasn’t worse than being on the outside looking in.

Which was his immediate future.

Sam was still talking: “Dean. Dean? I’m trying to yell at you and I get the sense you’re not listening. Frankly it’s a little insulting.”

Dean kept his eyes closed and faked sleep. That meant he had to keep up the act while Sam messed with the blankets and pillows, and – the big sap – kissed Dean on the top of his head. It made him feel soft and squishy, and he hated it. Sam was always doing crap like that.

Then Cas repeated the gesture (Dean was doomed) and pulled the blankets up around his neck. “Sleep, Dean.”

“Mmkay,” said Dean.

He was pretty there was no magic left in those fingers brushing his forehead, but he let himself drift off anyway.

 

-x-x-

 

Sam slipped out of the bedroom to putter around with the camp stove. He was trying to make toast and eggs, although the former was looking more edible than the latter. At least he still knew how to make a good strong pot of coffee.

He made up a tray and carried it back to the room. Dean was mostly awake, propped up against the pillows. Sam offered him a hot mug and pretended not to hover while he struggled to drink it.

“M’okay Sammy, stop vibrating,” said Dean, muffled in the blankets.

Sam reached out automatically to clasp his elbow. He left his hand where it was, and was conscious of the fact that it wasn’t _Dean_ that needed the reassurance.

“How about you stop trying to get yourself killed, huh?” he asked, meaning it. “You sick of playing Butch _and_ Sundance all by yourself?”

“It’s okay, Sammy,” said Dean. “You’re good now. You got Cas to watch out for you, you’re all set. You can – you can …” he blinked, trailing off, clearly forgetting where he was going with that thought.

“Dean,” said Sam, his eyes stinging. “You know if anything ever happened to you, it’d be all over for me. I’d probably take five seconds to find something sharp or loaded and I’d be right behind your stupid ass on the overnight express.”

“You can be okay,” said Dean, picking up where he left off. “No, it’s true, Sammy. You don’t gotta be that way, not anymore.”

“Dean. I’m seriously going to punch you in the face if you don’t shut up,” said Sam, not even trying to stop the shameful wetness from spilling down his cheeks. “I need you more than anything in the world. I love you. It would kill me if anything happened to you. Seriously, I can’t even take it when you’re hurt, look at me, I’m – I’m all fucked up over a cold and a couple of busted ribs, you think I can stand something worse?”

“I’m okay, Sam,” he said. “Nothing a little rest won’t heal.”

“But next time you might not be,” said Sam, his voice turning reedy and thin, like he was back in middle school, awkward and embarrassed and nothing but Dean’s warm arm around his shoulders could make him feel any better. “Next time you throw yourself head first into something, stupid and half-cocked, and you might – you might.”

“Hey hey hey, shhh shhh,” said Dean, probably still out of it – but his voice was exactly Sam’s favorite pitch, grave and tender, too impossibly low to be coming out of that feminine mouth. “Hey, I’m alright, Sammy. Give me a few days and I’ll be back on my feet, good as ever. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll – I promise, Sammy, l – I’ll figure something out, get out of your way, find something to do with myself so I’m not just – hanging around, getting in your way, okay? I won’t – nothing bad. I’ll take up macramé or something, alright? Make little plant sacks you know, so you can hang up your plants from the ceiling.”

“Dean, I don’t want you to find something else,” said Sam. “I want you to be with us. I want us all to be together.”

“C’mon Sammy, I see the way that you look at him. This is for real. You found something that really matters.”

“ _You_ really matter, you idiot! _We’re_ real, okay, you and me, against everything, against the whole world. Me and Cas – I don’t get why you think that takes away from what we have.”

“It’s not the same,” said Dean. Sam knew he shouldn’t be pumping his brother when he was still drugged, but he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to get a straight answer once Dean was back in his right mind, clamped down tight.

“Tell me why it’s not the same.”

“Because, you – you’re my whole world, Sam. You’re everything. And Cas is – my best friend. I mean, I thought he was – I mean, he is.” Dean looked confused. Sam took his cold hand and squeezed it gently, urging him to continue, not wanting him to get lost in his own tangled thoughts. “But knowing that – that you don’t feel the same way, it – it’s lopsided. Knowing that you’d give everything for someone, that you don’t want anything or anyone else than them … and knowing that they don’t feel the same way. It’s bad for the heart, Sam. It makes my chest hurt.”

_Oh, Dean._

“I do feel the same way,” said Sam. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. And so does Cas. We both love you so much that we can’t breathe when you’re hurting, Dean.”

Dean closed his eyes. The expression on his face was resigned, and Sam hated it. “It’s okay, Sammy,” he said. His jaw clenched, the veins pulsing. “You guys could really be happy, and that’s – that’s what I want. What I’ve always wanted for you. Everything would be fine, if I – if I could just get out of the way – ”

Dean turned his face into the pillow, his shoulders shaking, and Sam couldn’t take it anymore. He knew how deep-down Dean believed that he was worthless, that the people he loved didn’t return the same feelings. This was just going to play on all of his insecurities, laser-focused, like a cupid’s arrow.

Sam leaned over him at once, trying to cover Dean’s body with his own, rubbing over his arms. “Dean. C’mon, it’s okay. It’s okay, big brother. It’ll be okay.”

Dean shrugged him off, burrowing down deeper into the blankets. Sam let him have his space, tucking him in. He couldn’t be mad. He knew how hard it was for Dean to show any weakness, with the number of enemies gunning for them. Sam always had to play his cards just right to slip in under the radar.

As if he was summoned, Cas appeared in the doorway. “How is he,” he asked, his eyes fixed on Dean’s shaking form. “I can hear his grief.”

Sam drew them away into the other room. “He’s sad, Cas,” said Sam. “I can’t stand the fact that we did this to him.”

“There is only one solution for this unhappiness,” said Cas patiently.

“I know,” said Sam. He didn’t want to break up, but he already knew they would have to.

He knew perfectly well that Dean would never put anything before him. It was one of his brother’s most endearing qualities. It was impossible not to love somebody who was so loyal. But there was nobody Sam would put before Dean, either. Not even Cas. Not even the fate of the whole world. He didn’t want to be happy if it meant that Dean was miserable.

“If only we could all be together, then nobody would have to be left out.”

“I wish we didn’t have to – wait, what?”

“Dating one will always be incomplete, if I’m not also dating the other. The two of you will never be happy unless you’re together.”

“You mean together, like … together – together?”

“Of course.”

“Cas, that’s incest,” said Sam.

Cas tipped his head to inspect Sam’s expression. “There is no point in pretending with me, Samuel,” he said, with terrible patience. “Don’t act as if you haven’t wished for Dean to be your lover. I know you have.”

Sure, but that wasn’t – that was just –

“I have visited your dreams, Sam. I have watched you in the shower when you think you’re alone. I know your fantasies.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Jeez, Cas … let’s later talk about the right to privacy.”

“But you agree. About Dean?”

Sam bit his lip. Of course it was like a dream come true, but … “He’d never agree to that. Even to bring it up would be – he’d be horrified. It would ruin everything.”

“I can no longer see the future,” said Cas mildly. “But given our current situation, I feel that the best plan is to ask him, and find out.”

Sam looked back into the dark bedroom, where his brother was probably already planning the next trouble he could go find.

He couldn't believe he was even considering it. On the other hand, he never wanted another scene like the one they'd just been through. He closed his eyes. “I guess - maybe we should try,” he said. “It can’t be any worse than this.”

 

-x-x-

 

Relieved at Sam's acceptance of the inevitable, Castiel led the way back into the bedroom, where Dean was brooding over a tepid mug of coffee.

“We need to talk, Dean,” said Castiel.

Dean looked up, his expression resigned. Castiel assumed he wasn’t expecting the conversation to be pleasant.

“Dean, when Cas and I got together, I never thought of it as choosing him over you,” said Sam, sitting down on the edge of the cot. “And we’ve come to realize that … the truth is, we only fit together if you’re there too.”

Dean’s eyes slid to Castiel, as if he didn’t understand his brother. “It’s true,” said Castiel.

 “What we’re asking is … is if you would have any interest in – if you would want to be in a relationship with us, all together,” said Sam.

“Not sure I’m following, here,” said Dean, his voice rough. Sam and Castiel both reached for the water glass at the bedside table at the same time.

Castiel retrieved it first, and Dean accepted it from him, which felt like a small victory.

“You mean you want the two of you to be together, and I’m there to support you, right?” asked Dean carefully. He sounded like he was already planning his next escape, and Castiel noted that Sam tightened his grip on his brother’s wrist.

“No, that is not what we mean,” said Castiel. Sam shot him a pleading look, which he interpreted as a request for him to clarify the situation. “We would be together in all ways, if you agreed. Romantically and also carnally. All three of us. Simultaneously.”

Sam hissed.

“This is … are you having me on, here?” asked Dean.

“No. You told me my sense of humor was too complex for human comprehension.”

“That’s one way to put it,” muttered Dean. “Sammy. You’re being quiet over there. Did he put you up to this?”

“No,” whispered Sam.

“You … you want that, Sammy?”

Sam took a deep breath. Castiel knew he was probably clenching his fists under the table. “More than anything,” he said at last. _Brave, brave boy._ “Are you kidding? That’s like – that’s like a dream come true for me, if – if it was something you wanted too.”

Dean paused for another sip of water. Castiel could imagine what he was thinking. He didn’t dare reach out his power to find out if he was correct.

For the first time, he found himself wondering if his plan would fail. He would hardly be the first supernatural entity to be foiled by Dean’s stubborn, self sacrificing-will.

But there was nothing for it except patience.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” said Sam. “You can rest up, get back to 100% and we’ll still be here. Or, we can never mention it again. Whatever you want. Okay?”

Sam put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezed.

“When you’re ready,” said Cas, bending solemnly to kiss Dean’s cheek. “We’ll be here.”

 

-x-x-

 

Dean lay on his back, in the dark. _Whatever you want,_ Sam had said.

Well unfortunately, as far as Dean was concerned, the hardest question in the world was _What did he really want_. Not what his dad had wanted for him, or Bobby, or even Sam, or Cas, or freaking Chuck - but what did he, Dean Winchester, actually want for himself?

He never let himself ask that. Tried not to think about it. With luck like theirs it was easier not to make plans. Better to learn how to be satisfied with whatever you could get.

But - what would he want, if he could have anything?

He thought about Cas' bright blue eyes. Dean had hardly even noticed when he had started wanting him, but he did, with whatever he had to offer (it wasn’t much).

He thought Sam, looking down or away, letting that hair fall into his face. Shy like he got sometimes. For years Dean had been dreaming of just reaching out and brushing it back, because – because Sam didn’t need to be shy. Not around Dean.

What if instead of giving to Sam everything that he himself had ever wanted ... he had to try to - take something, instead?

 

-x-x-

 

Sam had been holding his breath, trying not to push. They made it back at the bunker, and Dean had holed up in his room, mostly quiet.

It took a week.

Until finally Dean came into the War Room with a glass of scotch and a determined expression.

“Alright, are you sure you're into this, Sammy? You sure you wanna jump into, not just a threesome, but an incestuous threesome? Cuz that’s pretty much the fucked-up cherry on the fucked-up sundae of our lives. I mean, one or the other maybe, but both?”

“Dean,” said Cas, tenderly.

It wouldn’t have worked any other way, thought Sam. Just the two of them, they would always be stuck in a cycle of push-me pull-me, too much history, too much pride – and yet Sam was self aware enough to know that he’d never been able to commit to anyone _without_ Dean, either. Cas was a buffer between them, and they each had their own relationship with him as well.

“I’m sure,” he whispered.

And when Dean reached for Sam and tugged him down to rest his head on Dean’s uninjured shoulder, reaching for Cas with the other hand - Sam couldn’t think of anything that mattered beyond the fact that all of them were together at last.

They made their way to the bedroom together. Sam was really, really hoping his brother would fuck him; he’d endured years of random women stopping him on the street to tell him that Dean was a sex God – like he hadn’t already been up half the night listening to them moan and sob out their multiple orgasms! Well, it was his turn now, damnit. His turn to stifle himself ineffectively into a pillowcase, his chance to send the bed frame knocking into the plaster at a no-name hotel, his chance to lounge around in Dean’s white Fed shirt in the morning while Dean made waffles. He deserved Dean’s world-famous post-coital waffles. And for Dean to pet his hair and call him sweetheart while he served them.

But first Dean was kissing Cas; slow, wet kisses – not rough and hungry like Sam expected, which was odd since his brother was the one to teach him to kiss. Dean was – tender, stroking Cas’ hair back out of his face and humming encouragement, his other arm wrapped snug around the smaller man’s waist, drawing him in close. Cas had his eyes closed like he was afraid it was a dream, his cheeks pretty pink, his hair disheveled from Dean’s possessive hands. Sam had a sudden flash of jealousy, not of his brother, but of his boyfriend; those were _his_ kisses Cas was taking, those were _his_ endearments Dean was giving away. And Sam was the spoiled younger brother who had never really had to learn to share – he’d never needed to, Dean had always given him everything he had.

“C’mere Sammy,” said Dean, pulling his lips away from Cas’ but not letting him put even an inch between them. “Sam. Come here.”

Reluctantly Sam came, not sure who he resented the most.

“You big baby,” said Dean affectionately, loping his free arm around Sam and pulling him in. It should have been weird, probably, but to Sam it just felt like a continuation of everything that had always been between them.

“What do you say, can I kiss you, baby boy?”

Sam shivered at the lust in Dean’s voice, the use of that nickname which hadn’t been used in years – since middle school, probably, when Sam started waking up irritable and agitated with wet shorts and a flaming hot temper.

He took a deep breath and nodded. Then Dean was leaning forward, gently probing the seam of his lips with kisses.

Cas looked drugged, watching with evident arousal. He didn’t seem jealous, Sam had just enough working brain cells to notice. Thank God. This was going to be hard enough without adding angelic wrath to the equation. Or maybe Dean was just that good at dividing his attention, pressing kisses to Cas’ temple and the top of his head between attending to Sam.

“So it’s settled,” Sam gasped out. “All three of us. We’ll take turns, or – or all together. I’ll set up a schedule. Nobody left out.”

“Yes,” said Cas solemnly. “We could make a calendar.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh boy.” He wrapped his arm around Cas, hugging him lightly. “So, Cas, you want to have grown up times with my baby brother, huh?”

“Yes Dean,” said Cas, his eyes fixed on Sam’s face. “I would like that.”

“Well, I guess I’ll allow it – if you promise to take really good care of him.”

“Thank you Dean,” said Cas humbly. It sounded so good coming from that glass-shard throat that Sam gasped.

“Oh, that’s nice,” said Dean. “I like that. I’m going to want to hear that a lot, what do you think Sammy?”

“Y-yes,” said Sam. “Yes, definitely.”

“We got a good mix going here, everyone is so nice and flexible. That’s gonna work out just fine, we’ll all have fun taking turns.”

“You too, Dean?” asked Cas.

“Of course.” Dean patted his bare shoulder. “I’m known for being adaptable.” He cocked his head, his expression predatory. “You two haven’t kissed yet. I think it’s your turn now.”

Sam knew he was flushing. Somehow there was only one thing more awkward than kissing an angel, and it was kissing an angel with his brother watching.

“Go on, plant one on him,” said Dean, his voice still gravelly. “I want to see it.”

So Sam leaned forward, cupped Cas’ cheek in one palm, and brought their lips together.

“That’s a little – chaste,” Dean observed. “Slip him some tongue, eh?”

Sam could feel himself turning red all the way to the tips of his ears. He didn’t need to do this, he reminded himself.

Then Cas pushed back against him, sliding his own tongue into Sam’s mouth.

“Oh – hoo,” said Dean. “I see how it is now.”

Sam knew he was red. “Shut up, bitch,” he grumbled, not quite willing to pull all the way away from Cas to do it.

“I think we both know you’re the bitch here, Sammy.” His brother untucked Cas’ white shirt and unbuttoned it.

Cas’ pale, slender body was offset by Dean’s tan hands. All of Dean was square and solid with muscle.

“Oh,” breathed Cas, as Dean rubbed over his chest, down his sides. Just getting to know him, tactilely, the way Dean learned everything. “Oh, that feel – that feels good.”

“It’s supposed to,” said Deam, tweaking his nipple. “But now you have to do the same for Sammy.”

“You don’t need to – ” began Sam. But he was cut off by the eagerness in Cas’ face as he reached out for Sam’s shirt, pulling it off him and over his head. Sam had to bend forward to help or risk getting himself stuck.

“Be quiet, Samuel,” said Cas prissily. “I’m trying to _learn.”_

Pants were next.

“See, it’s a good thing there’s two of us,” said Dean. “Sammy’s such a giant it will take both of us to handle all of him.” He dragged Sam down the bed by his leg, stretching him out. Sam groaned, louder when Dean held him open so that Cas could see … all of him.

“He is very beautiful,” said Cas. Sam wanted to cover his face – they were both _watching_ him, their faces hungry – but Cas casually took hold of his forearm and tugged it away.

“Shh, sweetheart, you’re alright,” said Dean, and Sam realized that he was completely naked and whining. Cas was also bare, while Dean’s shirt was still on, if hanging open.

He was going to have to talk to Dean about this ‘sweetheart’ thing … nip it right in the bud. Sam was a grown man, he demanded respect, ‘sweetheart’ was even worse than ‘Sammy’ … yeah, he’d have to say something - maybe just … not tonight …

 

-x-x-

 

The boys were so lovely together. Dean, divided only in his devotion to both of them. Sam, completely naked, looking like a satisfied cat, knowing that Castiel would be pleased with him – knowing that Dean was following his every motion with his eyes.

The look suited him.

Castiel cleared his throat. “Dean, I wish to – to bring Sam more pleasure. To show him that he is – mine.” _As are you_ , he thought, but didn’t say. Not yet. “Will you show me how?”

“Start gentle,” came Dean’s scratchy voice. “Kiss him again. You’ve got to work him up to it. Sammy’s new at this, you know.”

“I am not – mmph! … Mm.”

“Like this?”

“ _Mmmn_.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty good. Nice and slow. Sammy, you want to lie back now? That’s good, Cas. Go with him.”

“You as well,” Castiel ordered.

“Okay, okay, just don’t lose momentum. Keep kissing him.”

“Ah,” Sam managed, perhaps a little startled at Castiel’s intensity. He shouldn’t be; it had been building up a long time.

Dean’s hand came up to stroke his hair, soothing him. “That’s it, Cas, he likes that. Now, you need to touch him.”

“I am touching him,” said Castiel.

“Your hands. Keep one hand on his neck or his cheek, keep him in place. Let him know he’s not going anywhere. Sam, I think you should have your arms around Cas too, hmm? That’s it, that’s better. Now relax your legs, let him crawl up between them yeah, just like that.”

“Where should I put my free hand,” asked Castiel, nuzzling Sam’s neck, as Sam moaned and threw his head back, giving him room. “His hip?”

“That’ll work. We’ll keep it above the waist, for now.”

Castiel knew that Sam’s typical approach in the bedroom, at least with his female partners, tended to be aggressive; Sam enjoyed demonstrating his strength, his size. Castiel could imagine that experience being enjoyable also, given this vessel’s physical constraints. But for now he was grateful that Dean was there helping them to “take it slow.” He enjoyed Sam’s pink-cheeked, flustered enjoyment of their mutual appreciation. He could already tell how much Sam would flourish under their approval.

Dean was still closed off, concentrating on his brother, on making sure everyone got what they needed. That was a problem to be dealt with later. Right now Castiel was too distracted by the sensation of warm skin, the way Sam arched and groaned, panting softly.

“Alright, watch me now, Cas. This is called lube, and we need a lot of it. Sam, take hold of your knees, keep `em up out of the way. That’s it. Isn’t he pretty? Ok now, Cas, nice and slow, really let him feel it. How’s that, Sammy? Okay? Not hurting you?”

“Ah, mn – Dean, mmn – no, it feels so good … Cas - _Dean …”_

“Yeah,” said Dean. “See, Cas, we always check in. If anyone’s getting overwhelmed, we can always slow down.”

“You slow down and I’ll kill you,” warned Sam.

“Get in here, Cas, give this a try,” said Dean, ignoring Sam’s interjection. “You know someday it’ll be your turn on the bottom, angelpie,” Castiel moaned softly, overcome by the visual of himself as the object of both his beloved boys’ complete attention. “So you better be sweet to my baby brother now.”

“Dean …” Sam protested.

“Shh, Sammy, it’s your first time, I just want to make sure he treats you right.”

“Ok, it’s not my first time having sex _altogether_!”

“Give him another finger, Cas,” Dean advised, “we’ll make him forget all the other girls.”

“ _Ah! Omigod._ ”

“My little tightass,” Dean teased him. “Would’ve thought with that stick you had up here …”

“Shut up, Dean,” warned Sam – although Castiel noticed the way he kept pushing back against their fingers, wanting more.

“Gonna let Cas here fuck you first, sweetheart,” said Dean, sliding in two fingers and spreading them open like a V. Castiel watched intently, memorizing the technique. “That okay with you?”

“Yeah,” gasped Sam, his penis jerking.

Dean let him go, reaching into the drawer of the night table. “We always wrap it up, Cas,” he advised, handing him a condom. “It’s for your protection as well as your partners’.”

“Don’t worry Cas, Dean gave me this same speech when I was thirteen,” said Sam, still holding the backs of his knees as Dean assisted Castiel in applying the prophylactic. “And he showed me on a banana.”

“Here’s a banana for you,” said Dean, lightly gripping Castiels’ now-covered erection. Castiel thrust forward into his hand, impatient.

“Hey-hey-hey, you think I’m going to let you just fuck my little brother, just like that?” said Dean. “Sammy here is a nice girl, you have to treat him good.”

“Dean …” said Sam.

“You don’t just get to pounding away, Cas. This is special. Look into his eyes and tell him something genuine.”

Castiel obediently lifted his head. “I am honored to be fornicating with you, Samuel Winchester.”

Sam groaned. Dean laughed. “There ya go. Now give him a compliment.”

“You have a very beautiful soul, Sam,” said Castiel earnestly. “I have always admired it.”

Sam was now scarlet, but his eyes were soft.

“Good. Now, are you ready, Sammy?”

Sam leaned back on his elbows, watching, heavy-lidded. His long, long legs were still spread wide, almost too much to keep track of. His body was relaxed, welcoming. “ _Yes_.”

“Alrighty then. Cas. When you’re ready - step right up. Only when you’re ready.”

Castiel licked his lips, examining Sam’s tan, muscular body spread out before him like an offering. “Yes,” he whispered. “Just relax, Samuel, and let me – let me have you.”

“Want you to,” said Sam, bravely holding himself open, letting Castiel step up between his thighs. He was so courageous, thought Castiel tenderly; so earnest and sweet, still pure of heart after everything he’d been through.

As Dean had directed, he took it very, very slow.

Dean moved to the head of the bed and was fussing over Sammy, stroking his hair, his chest. “Nice deep breaths now. Are you hurting Sammy? We can take it down a notch.”

“No – ah! Mm – don’t stop, Cas, don’t stop.”

“Relax the muscles in your rectum, if you can,” Castiel advised, his eyes on Sam’s flushed face.

Dean laughed again, and Castiel wasn’t sure why, but it didn’t sound unkind. He positioned himself, sitting back against the headboard, and pulled his brother’s head and shoulders into his own lap. “How’s that feel, Sammy?”

“Great,” said Sam dreamily.

“Yeah, that’s it, this is just what you need, isn’t it.”

Castiel was trying to follow all of Dean’s instructions perfectly – he kept a steady, even rhythm (“no need to get fancy right away”), tried to go as deep and hard as he could (well, that order came from Sam) and tried to ensure that Sam was being “treated properly” during his “dehymenation.” At Dean’s instructions, he had encouraged Sam to lift his long legs up over Castiel’s shoulders, so that he wouldn’t exert himself trying to stay in the right position.

Sam was hiding his face in Dean’s shoulder, moaning continuously now, Dean’s strong hands alternately soothing and arousing him – one stroking Sam’s damp hair, the other keeping firm hold of his penis, sliding gently up and down in time with Castiel’s own rhythm, occasionally moving up to tease the bulbous red head. Every time he did Sam’s whimpers would grow higher and more desperate, and his inner muscles would tighten even more around Castiel’s own organ. It didn’t sound like pain – both boys were nearly always silent in suffering. And Dean would know, if it was.

“You’re doing a great job, Cas,” said Dean, watching him. “Not even getting tired yet, are you. You could go forever.”

Sam groaned again. It was true. Castiel was not human, he would never tire. He could feel his vessel edging towards orgasm, but as with so many things – food, sleep – he did not need to concede.

“I am thankful that you are here, Dean,” said Castiel honestly, keeping up the same slow, churning stroke that Sam responded best to. “I want to do well by Sam, but I would – I would not have known how to be what he needs, without you.”

“I don’t always get it right either,” Dean admitted. “Maybe the two of us together can do a better job.”

“Oh, _God,_ ” gasped Sam.

“Samuel, I – I love you,” said Castiel quietly.

“Love you too,” said Sam.

“There’s my boy,” said Dean, tugging hard enough to finish him off.

“Oh!” said Castiel softly. “Sam! Dean!” And then he was coming too, hunched forward gasping, his hips rabbiting without his permission, his eyes closed tight, teeth clenched, animal groans escaping his mouth. He was almost frightened, but Sam pulling him closer, quieting his noises with the skin of his neck, and Dean’s hands were on his back, his hair, stroking and soothing him.

 _This_ was the thing that the vessel had been craving - not just sex, but this intimacy, of being vulnerable but also safe, being sheltered and at the same time out of control.

“That was – quite something,” gasped Castiel, when the strongest intensity was past.

“Yeah, you get used to it,” said Dean.

“Dean, I love you as well.”

Dean looked surprised, caught-out – Castiel had seen him studying the wall during the previous declarations.

“Love you, big brother,” murmured Sam sleepily.

Clever Sam. It would be easier for Dean to say it to him, Castiel recognized. And sure enough, Dean stroked his little brother’s cheek and whispered it back, tender and low. Even if they hadn’t meant it in exactly this way before, the love had always been there.

“Dean,” Castiel demanded. “Look at me.”

Dean did, reluctantly.

“I love you as well. Now I want you to say it to me too.”

He understood that, among humans, this was not the way the ritual went. You could not insist on it, you had to receive it freely given. But knowing Dean as well as he did, Castiel was not willing to wait and risk upsetting the careful balance the three of them had.

“I love you too,” said Dean finally. He was looking away again, but Castiel could hear the ring of quiet sincerity in the words.

“Thank you. Now, come here and kiss me again.”

Dean still had Sam on his lap, and wouldn’t move him, but he leaned forward slowly. Castiel met him half way. They kissed with gentle affection, over Sam.

“You are still dressed,” said Castiel, frowning. He couldn’t even see if he had an erection. Maybe he didn’t.

Dean shrugged.

“Will you please let Sam give you an orgasm now?”

“Think he’s worn out,” said Dean, looking down at Sam’s head on his lap. “You rode him too good and hard.” Sam was watching them, clear-eyed, and Castiel knew that he understood what was passing between them all. Dean rubbed a thumb over his brother's eyebrows, which were furrowed. Sam turned his face up, quick as a cat, to kiss his fingers. Dean chuckled and let him.

“Then will you let me give you one?”

Dean’s mouth tugged down. “I don’t want – I don’t want you to while you’re – unless you’re –” he motioned to Castiel’s penis, which was soft in his lap. “I don’t want to do it when you’re not into it.”

Leftover from Hell, or just his own giving nature – Castiel speculated a little of both. He sighed.

“Then get yourself off, while we watch,” said Sam, pushing himself up and crawling over to Castiel, sliding one of his long arms around the angel’s waist and snuggling in. Castiel remembered Dean claiming that Sam sometimes got “grabby” and assumed that this was another manifestation of that. He enjoyed learning each new thing about the brothers: Sam Winchester was cuddly after sex.

But at the moment, Dean was still prickly.

“Come on,” said Sam gently. “Take it out. I know you know how to, hairy palms.” This was an inside joke of some kind, Castiel inferred.

Slowly Dean reached down into his lap, opening his pants.

“That’s it, big brother. Show us how you like it. Just like that.”

“You have a nice penis, Dean,” said Castiel, trying to be helpful. “I like to look at it.”

“Someday maybe I’ll let you _fornicate_ with it,” said Dean slyly.

“I will enjoy that, I’m sure.”

“Stop stalling,” said Sam, leaning his head on Castiel’s shoulder. “C’mon, Dean.”

With surprising hesitancy, Dean took himself in hand and gave a few cautious strokes. Castiel thought he recognized the motions from the way he had touched Sam, and smiled.

“You shy?” asked Sam.

“Just don’t like bein’ the center of attention.”

Sam leaned forward and offered a kiss. “Get used to it,” he advised.

“What if we both help you?” suggested Castiel.

“Yeah, I dunno, talk dirty to me, or something.”

“Next time I will fuck you,” Castiel promised. “Nicely, just like you taught me to fuck Samuel.”

“He looked so pretty,” murmured Dean, closing his eyes. “I liked those happy little noises he made. Makes me feel so good to know he’s happy, and safe.”

“You make me feel that way,” whispered Sam. “And you can fuck me too, when you want to. I’d really like that, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean whispered. “I’d do that. And Cas, if he wants. Or we can – team up and do him. He’s never gonna leave us once he gets that cock of yours up that little angel ass. Or my tongue…”

“Good, Dean,” said Castiel. “Come now, for us.”

“Come on, Dean,” said Sam.

Dean was nearly silent, his fat lower lip caught between his teeth, but his release spurted over the bedspread as he gasped.

Sam slid forward to wrap his arm around him, pulling his head down into shoulder, holding him tight while he panted. His big hand came up to comb through Dean’s hair.

Castiel remembered how intense the experience of orgasm could be, and he didn’t want Dean to feel alone in it. He shifted closer, pressing their sides together, Sam and Dean and Castiel all touching along one bright line. Dean reached for him, turning his face up and kissing him gently. Sam nudged his face in to receive his own share of his brother’s lips.

“Thank you, Dean,” said Castiel. “Thank you, Sam.”

“Thank you, Cas,” said Sam. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah. What you guys said.”

 

-x-x-

 

They were curled up together, all three of them.

Dean kissed his brother’s salty skin (Gigantor needed a shower after this) and bit down playfully to make him squirm.

“Quit it,” grumbled Sam, half asleep. Cas, spooned up on his other side, wiggled closer.

Dean loved that he could touch them, as much as he wanted. It was already addicting. He’d always had to hold himself back, pretend that he felt less than he did for both of them. And now he could rub his hand along Sam’s spine, hug Cas around the shoulders, kiss his forehead if he felt like it.

His fingers were tangled in Sam’s soft, silky hair. It used to be that he could only touch it during the worst times – when Sam was hurt, or desperate – but now he could run his fingers through it, even take a handful and tug, judging by the approving sound Sam made when he tried it. Maybe he made fun of Sam for growing it so long, but he already knew he’d never let him cut it.

He reached around so that his arm tucked tight around both of them, Sam’s ribs and Cas’ trim little waist. Sam rolled over and, like the overgrown puppy he was, tried to snuggle in under his chin.

Dean felt every muscle in his body relax.

“There it is,” whispered Cas.

Dean stretched out one hand to pet through messy black hair. “What?” Brushed his fingers over Cas’ forehead. Down the bridge of his nose. Traced a careful finger over his lips.

“Incredible,” Castiel breathed.

“What, Cas?” asked Sam, yawning. “What’s incredible?”

“All of us,” said Cas, his eyes closed. “I can see us. All of us. And we’re beautiful.”

 

 

**__**__**____ _ _ ** _ _ ** _ _ **

 

**__**__**___FIN_ _ _ ** _ _ ** _ _ **

Art by Threshie!! Go visit her [tumblr ](http://www.threshasketch.tumblr.com)or her  wonderful [fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threshie/pseuds/Threshie)

_______(I am old and do not Tumblr, although Threshie tells me there is somebody with my same username on the site ... just for the record, that's not me!)_ _ _ _ _ _ _

 

*Also note, my most recent SPN fics are under my pseud, C_aura.*

 


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